Roy Buchanan The Story Of Isaac
Well, the door it opened slowly,
my father he came in,
I was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
and his blue eyes they were shining
and his voice was very cold.
He said, "I've had a vision
and you know I'm strong and holy,
I must do what I've been told."
So we started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
and his axe was made of burning gold.
Well, the trees they got much smaller,
yes, the lake a lady's mirror
when we stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over,
broke a minute later
and he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
but it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
he looked once behind his shoulder,
I guess he knew I would not hide.
You who build these altars now
to sacrifice our children,
you must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
and you never have been tempted
by a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
your hatchets blunt and bloody,
you were not there before.
When I lay upon a mountain
and my father's hand was trembling
with the beauty, I mean the beauty of the word.
And if you call me brother now,
forgive me but I must inquire,
"Just according to whose plan?"
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I'll kill you if I can.
And mercy, mercy on our uniform,
man of peace, man of war,
the peacock spreads his deadly fan.
